


Something's Wrong With Crowley (For A Big Spooky Fan Zine)

by CandyQueenAO3, CatofApocalypse



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Book Aziraphale, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fanart, First Kiss, Horror, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, The Holy Water Fight Was for TV Boys yes, book crowley, but idgaf because i live on the eeeeedge!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyQueenAO3/pseuds/CandyQueenAO3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatofApocalypse/pseuds/CatofApocalypse
Summary: Something is going on with Crowley.He seems a bit... wrong. Unhinged.And Aziraphale needs to figure out why.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85
Collections: ABSFZ Halloween Good Omens Works





	Something's Wrong With Crowley (For A Big Spooky Fan Zine)

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, folks! Terribly sorry I've been away for so long, but this is one of the MANY things I've been working on in secret for ABSFZ with the FABULOUS CatofApocalypse! She is a GEM of a person and a DELIGHT to collaborate with! Every day I'm happy to have known her!

Something was wrong with Crowley.

Aziraphale couldn’t _quite_ put his finger on it, but days after their Holy Water fight in Saint James’s, he’d gone over to the demon’s flat to apologize for his harsh words and attempt to make amends. When he arrived at the front door, however, Crowley had enthusiastically greeted him as if there had been no fight to begin with.

The demon spread his arms wide with his characteristic grin. “Aziraphale! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Aziraphale blinked in befuddlement, twisting his velvet tophat in his hands. He’d expected to have been greeted - if greeted at all - with frosty displeasure. However, he wasn’t going to put up a fuss if his dear friend was willing to accept his apology and let bygones be bygones.

“Well, I came by to apologize for the _dreadful_ things I said,” Aziraphale replied, still guiltily wringing his hat.

“What things?” Crowley asked, cocking his head so far to the side that his ear practically rested on his shoulder.

Aziraphale gave a self-deprecating smile that instantly dropped from his face when he realized the other was being serious. “Th… the Holy Water, remember?” he asked, waving his hand in a circle for emphasis. “Me saying we weren’t friends? The ‘fraternizing’ comment? Surely you’re having me on!”

Crowley’s eyes weren’t visible behind his dark glasses and, not for the first time, Aziraphale wished he’d take them off so he could know what the demon was feeling. Crowley’s head remained tilted for a split second before snapping upright. It was like night and day how fast his expression changed from excited to thunderous. “Yes. I remember,” he intoned, and spun on his heels to march into his flat, leaving the front door wide open in his wake.

Aziraphale fidgeted on the stoop, unsure if Crowley wanted him to follow or if it would be best to return home.

“Sh-shall I… shall I come in then so we may discuss this further?” he asked sheepishly, once again fiddling with the brim of his hat.

When no angry shout or orders to leave were forthcoming, Aziraphale took it as permission to enter. He stepped over the threshold, and into the building beyond.

The first thing he noticed, upon walking into Crowley’s flat, was how _dark_ it was inside. None of the gas lamps had been turned on, and the curtains hadn’t been parted to allow for any sunlight. Not even so much as a single candle flickered in the gloom. 

The second thing he noticed, as he stumbled down the darkened hallway towards the parlor, was a pervasive, lingering odor. It wasn’t the woodsy, frosty scent that typically clung to the air surrounding Crowley, but a cloying, almost sweet smell that called to mind decay and rot.

Taken within the context of Crowley’s demonic nature, neither the darkness nor foul scent were too concerning. Demons, after all, naturally thrived in these types of surroundings and Crowley was no exception.

Aziraphale continued blindly groping his way down the hall until he felt the frame of a doorway that he knew led to the parlor. The large bay windows of the room had their curtains drawn as well, but there was a large enough slit in one to allow enough outside light to trickle in and enable the angel to properly see by. 

On the other side of the room, Crowley stood as rigid as a corpse, facing the wall. From where he stood, Aziraphale could see his friend’s long, bony fingers skittering across the wallpaper. Crowley’s mouth hung open in what appeared to be mute astonishment; like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Aziraphale’s face twisted in a mixture of concern and confusion. “Er, dear, are you alright?” he asked, edging closer to Crowley, holding out a hand.

Crowley turned to look at him but he didn’t do so all at once.

His _body_ twisted below his neck, but his face remained staring at the wall. After a beat, his head finally turned as well, his mouth still continuously open. 

The two of them stared at each other in silence for what felt like an agonizing eternity. “I have a Temptation,” Crowley then said. His voice was flat, monotone.

Before Aziraphale could protest, Crowley sped past him in tight, jerky movements back towards the front door. The angel numbly followed after him and watched in bafflement as, instead of reaching out a hand to grasp the doorknob, Crowley walked straight into it with a dull thud as if he were a trapped fly. He staggered back half a step and his hand fumbled for the knob before finally managing to successfully wrench open the door so hard that it cracked the opposite wall.

Without so much as a parting glance at Aziraphale, Crowley staggered down the stoop and onto the street, leaving the door once again wide open.

***~*~*~*~***

Days later, while nose-deep in his latest book, it occurred to Aziraphale that he hadn’t _actually_ had that sit-down with Crowley he’d been intending to have. His friend’s bizarre behavior had been somewhat of a distraction, but hopefully Crowley was feeling a little better. For a second attempt at extending the proverbial olive branch, Aziraphale felt that an invitation to lunch would be a _splendid_ idea.

With that in mind, he doffed his hat and left his bookshop. It was a warm August afternoon, and the stroll down to Crowley’s flat was pleasant. As Aziraphale climbed the steps to the front door, he briefly wondered if - perhaps - Crowley was still out on that nameless Temptation he had set out to do. That thought was quickly dismissed, as Aziraphale could feel the static-y tingle of a familiar demonic presence just beyond the door to the flat’s interior.

As he did earlier that week, the angel lifted his hand and politely knocked.

He whistled a strain of Pachelbel as he waited, but no demon appeared at the door to welcome him in. Perhaps Crowley hadn't heard? This time, Aziraphale used the side of his fist rather than his knuckle and _pounded_ on the door.

Still silence.

Anxiety began to prickle at the back of his neck. Crowley was _quite obviously_ inside the building if Aziraphale’s well-honed angelic senses were anything to go by. So why wasn’t he answering? Was he asleep? Had something _happened_ to him?

That last thought had Aziraphale’s anxiety spiking into full blown _worry._ Against all propriety, a gentle Heavenly Suggestion had the door creaking open. He justified his snooping with the belief that, if Crowley _were_ in danger, he’d likely appreciate the timely intervention. If, however, he was merely asleep or distracted, then Aziraphale could sneak back out the front door without his friend being any the wiser.

As before, the entryway and the building beyond were dark. The gas lamps on the walls had begun to gather dust, clearly indicating that they hadn’t been turned on in some time. He closed the door quietly behind him, allowing himself to be swallowed up by the shadows.

With as much careful grace as a half-blind angel could muster, Aziraphale practically tiptoed down the hall towards Crowley’s bedroom. If the demon _were_ simply sleeping, that’d be the most likely place to find him.

As Aziraphale approached the room at the end of the hall, his ears could make out a faint sound. It was a steady, if slow, rumbling that seemed to rise and fall in intensity. It sounded very familiar, but he couldn’t quite conjure up the explanation for _why._ He didn’t have long to puzzle over it, before the bedroom door creaked open, and Crowley stepped into the hallway. The sound picked up, before muffling once again as he closed his bedroom door.

“Aziraphale!” he greeted with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry about not getting the door. I was busy with something.”

Aziraphale eyed him warily. He looked a bit dishevelled, which was highly unusual for a demon who prided himself on always having a flawless appearance. His trousers were wrinkled, and the grey dress shirt he wore was buttoned up unevenly. His sunglasses, however, remained fixed on his face.

Aziraphale smiled, despite his light concern. “It’s alright, dear, I just came by to check up on you. I never got the chance to _properly_ discuss our argument with you, so I was thinking we could have lunch and-”

“Lunch! Yes! Let’s have lunch!” 

Crowley clapped his hands together and sped past Aziraphale towards the kitchen. The angel opened his mouth to ask where Crowley thought he was going, but he gagged when the same cloying stench from a few days ago assailed his nose. While it had been a minor annoyance the first time, _this_ time it was practically overpowering. He clapped a hand over his mouth and nose to block the worst of it and staggered down the hall after Crowley.

The smell seemed to cling to the air, but it thankfully lessened as he stumbled into the darkened kitchen. There he found Crowley noisily clanging down two plates on the table, along with various pieces of mismatched silverware.

“Crowley? What on Earth-”

“So! I was thinking I could whip you up some crêpes,” the demon interrupted, suddenly grabbing Aziraphale by the shoulders and roughly coaxing him down into a chair. “You still like crêpes, right? Of course you do, you nearly got hung for some after all!”

He turned to begin rifling through his kitchen cupboards. Aziraphale, stunned and discombobulated from his friend’s bizarre behavior, struggled to come up with something to say.

_“You don’t cook,”_ would have been a good one.

_“Are you feeling alright?”_ would have been better.

Instead, he mumbled, “...decapitated.”

Crowley paused from where he’d been smashing eggs against the countertop. His head turned to face Aziraphale.

“What was that?” he asked with a cheerful smile, then brought his fist down to pulverize another egg into goo.

Aziraphale eyed the yolk dribbling down the countertop with a growing sense of unease.

“‘Decapitated’,” he repeated. “I was almost _decapitated._ Not _hung.”_

“Right. Yeah. Sorry,” Crowley said hastily, wiping his hand on the front of his shirt and leaving yellow streaks behind.

He then reached back into the cupboard, withdrew a cloth sack of flour, upended the _entire_ contents onto the countertop, and began smearing the egg and flour mixture around as though he were fingerpainting.

At the sight of it, Aziraphale made a guttural noise of frustration and nearly leapt up from the table.

“For _goodness’s sake,_ Crowley! _What_ has gotten into you?!” he practically shouted.

His friend went stock-still, his face distressingly blank. Then, slowly, Crowley’s head swivelled on his neck to look at Aziraphale with a hideous crackling sound, like someone crushing crackers in their fist. They stared at each other in tense silence for what felt like a small eternity. Then, quicker than Aziraphale had time to react, Crowley lurched away from the soiled countertop to cage him against the back of his chair. Aziraphale gulped and slid down in his seat. Crowley’s face remained inscrutable, but appeared to be observing him, _searching_ for something. Not for the first time did Aziraphale find himself wishing he could see the other’s uncovered eyes in all their intensity.

“You…” Crowley rumbled, his mouth drooping suddenly. “What does he see in you? He told me to keep you happy, but I can’t seem to get it right…”

“P-pardon?”

Aziraphale “eep”-ed in shock as Crowley’s frigid fingers gripped his chin hard enough to bruise his tender skin and pulled him closer. He opened his mouth to protest the harsh treatment, to _demand_ that he be released, but found himself suddenly kissed instead.

It wasn’t his first kiss, nor was it even the first he had shared with Crowley (Purely platonic greetings, of course. Of course), but it was certainly the most _unpleasant._ His mouth was flooded with the taste of mold, and the smell of decay nearly pushed vomit up and out of his throat. When a tongue, ice-cold and slimy tried to force its way past his lips, Aziraphale audibly gagged and shoved Crowley away from him, dislodging the demon’s sunglasses as he did so.

Aziraphale scrubbed his lips with his sleeve coat, spitting onto the floor. “How _dare_ you! I don’t know what’s-”

His words stuttered and died when he looked up and saw Crowley’s face.

His friend’s eyes, once a comforting honey-gold, were now completely pitch black, like an oil spill. Brackish-looking fluid dribbled from the, staining the skin just above his cheeks a hideous dark-green. Aziraphale leapt to his feet, sending his chair clattering backwards. Crowley’s mouth stretched to the side, but didn’t stop at his cheeks. A mouth filled with crooked, jagged teeth split the skin of his face all the way back to his ears.

“I’m sssssorry… Aziraphale…” Crowley croaked in a voice that sounded like it had been dragged past shredded vocal chords. “I can… make it… better.”

He flexed his hands, the bones shifting beneath skin stretched paper-thin. Aziraphale stumbled backwards, then fled deeper into the flat, heedless of anything except for the mind-consuming need to get away from that _thing_ wearing his dearest friend’s face.

As Aziraphale ran, he could hear it loping after him and gurgling his name. He gave one final burst of speed and flung himself into Crowley’s bedroom, slamming the door and locking it behind him just in time to hear the creature slam bodily against it with a pained screech.

Aziraphale slumped against the door in relief, but instantly recoiled from it when the not-Crowley howled and scratched at the other side. The angel cast his eyes about the room, searching for something he could use to defend himself - an umbrella, a heavy paperweight, _anything_ \- when he spotted something he hadn’t thought he’d see.

Crowley, the _real_ Crowely, lay sprawled beneath the dark cover of his bedsheets, snoring away and practically dead to the world. With a jolt of surprise, Aziraphale realized that the sound he’d been hearing earlier - the one that was so familiar - had been his _snoring!_

But if Crowley was asleep, how did that poorly-constructed facsimile get there? Aziraphale flinched as another furious snarl sounded from the hallway. Well, no time like the present to get to the bottom of things! With no regard for whether it was rude or not to do so, he seized the front of Crowley’s shirt and shook the demon as hard as he could without risking his head popping off.

“Crowley, wake up! Wakeupwakeupwakeup!”

At the feel of an angelic fist closing around his collar, Crowley’s eyes had immediately snapped open, but it’d taken him a moment to get his bearings as he was violently rattled.

“A-a-angel I-I-I’m u-u-u-u-up!”

A hand, spindly and spidery and far too powerful for all its thinness, punched through the door and scrabbled for the knob. Aziraphale shrieked and leapt onto Crowley’s bed to get away from it, practically smothering the demon underneath him.

“Zir...phale… let… in… Ssssorry… do… better…”

“What the fuck, what the _fuck?!”_ Crowley’s voice had gone high and reedy as he clung to Aziraphale.

“I don’t _know,”_ the angel sobbed. “It had your _face_ and it was wrong and it-”

Something akin to understanding flashed in Crowley’s eyes and his lips pulled back in an embarrassed grimace.

“Okay, so…” The hand smacked against the doorknob, sending one of the screws holding it in place scattering away. “I _may_ be just a _tiiiiiiny_ bit… responsible for this…”

Another smack, and another screw gone.

“Responsible? _How?!”_ Aziraphale demanded, and Crowley cringed.

“It’s a Doppelgänger!” he explained, words pouring out of his mouth. “I created it so it could watch over things for me while I slept! I must not have done it right if it’s deteriorated _this_ badly…”

Aziraphale levelled a glower at him that could put even the most scorching of Hellfire to blushing shame. _“You think?!”_

Before Crowley could defend his actions, the doorknob was summarily wrenched away, and the Doppelgänger bounded into the room with a hideous screech like nails on chalkboard. Aziraphale barely had time to shove Crowley off the bed before the creature was upon him, catching him in claws that felt like shards of ice. The blond flailed and thrashed against its demonically-infused strength as he was dragged towards the door.

“Do… better… sssssorry… do better…”

“Unhand me this instant you… you… _bad thing!”_ Aziraphale growled, kicking the Doppelgänger square in its face.

The heel of his shoe sunk into flesh with a sound like he’d just taken a step into a bog. Aziraphale was unable to suppress a cry of outraged disgust when he pulled his leg back and his shoe came away _wet_ with something indescribable. Behind him, Crowley leapt up and snatched a vase filled with flowers off his nightstand.

“Angel! Do you trust me?” he shouted.

Aziraphale craned his neck backwards as he continued striking and struggling against the monster that threatened to pull him to his doom. His friend’s posture was rigid, with his brow set in a determined frown that was betrayed by the visible trembling in his hands that shook some flower petals free. He was terrified, not for himself but for his angel, and begging that very same Heavenly being to place his trust - his _life_ \- in his hands.

Even as Aziraphale felt claws rend his waistcoat, and unnatural teeth snap down dangerously close to his throat, he felt a bit of his fear soothed under the reassuring balm that was Crowley’s presence.

“With all that I am,” Aziraphale said, soft enough to almost be unheard.

Crowley heard it though, sure enough. His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, and his lips parted around the smallest gasp. Those five words, five _syllables,_ were heavy with something that could not be addressed; at least not at the current moment. Crowley’s resolve hardened, and he ripped the flowers out of the vase to cast them aside.

_“Bless this,”_ he ordered, thrusting the vase full of water pointedly in his friend’s direction.

_“What?!”_ Aziraphale shrieked as he slid another inch or two towards the door.

“Bless the water! You said you trusted me? _Well prove it!”_

Aziraphale’s chest heaved with exertion from fighting off the creature. Then, he managed to pull his hand away and waved it in the direction of the vase, whispering something under his breath. The aura in the room physically shifted from the blessing. Crowley felt the water tingling under his fingertips through the glass of its container and, without a moment’s hesitation, flung the entire contents of it at the Doppelgänger.

The instant the Holy Water came into contact with its putrid flesh, the creature sizzled like batter dropped on a hot pan. It relinquished its hold and staggered away with an agonized screech. Aziraphale had a split second of clarity to miracle himself dry as Crowley rushed to his side and pulled him to his feet.

The two of them watched in a mixture of grim satisfaction and shocked revulsion as the Doppelgänger was reduced to little more than a bubbling puddle of foul-smelling black tar within seconds. They continued clinging to each other even as the howling silenced, the last echoes of it ringing in the sudden stillness of the flat.

Aziraphale swallowed.

“Well… that was…”

He was silenced by Crowley’s frantic hands roving over every inch of his torso, arms, and face, checking for signs of injury.

“Angel, are you okay? Did it hurt you?” he babbled, eyes following the path of his own hands.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Aziraphale replied, gently capturing his friend’s hands to still them. “Are _you?”_

“‘M fine too,”

At that instant, both noticed just how physically close they were. Neither, however, wanted to move away and leave the small bubble of comfort they had unwittingly created. Aziraphale’s eyes drifted down to Crowley’s lips, and he chuckled dryly. The demon arched an eyebrow. “Something you’d like to share?”

Aziraphale couldn’t say why, but he was compelled to blurt out, “Do you know that thing kissed me?”

Crowley lurched as though physically struck.

“It _what?!”_

Aziraphale nodded. “Oh, yes. It was _ghastly._ Didn’t enjoy it a _whit.”_

Crowley’s mouth did something funny, then; like he was trying to smile but a frown kept tugging it down at the corners.

“Ah, that’s probably what gave it away, huh?” he mumbled. “You knew I’d never kiss you.”

Aziraphale’s face crumbled and he felt like a needle of ice had just been rammed through his chest.

“You… you wouldn’t?”

Crowley blinked rapidly. “Wait… are you saying you _wouldn’t_ smite me to dust if I tried to kiss you? Say, for example, if I tried to kiss you _now?”_

Aziraphale rocked back on the balls of his feet, threading their fingers together properly.

“I… I do believe I would be quite amenable to that, actually,” he whisper-giggled. “Crowley, darling, after our argument, I came to realize that I _hated_ being apart from you. The thought of not talking to you or seeing you was simply _torture_ and I-”

He was interrupted for the _third_ time that visit when Crowley brought their mouths together in a kiss that was _much_ more pleasant this time around. Crowley kissed him as though he were afraid that this was a dream, or worse, that Aziraphale would suddenly change his mind and this would be the only chance he got to do so. The angel, however, was _far_ more than ‘amenable’, and tilted his head a little to better be able to snog his dearest one silly.

They broke apart, however, when they had the simultaneous realization that they were sharing their first “real” kiss mere _inches_ away from the festering remains of Crowley’s Doppelgänger.

“I suppose I should clean that up,” Aziraphale grumbled with a put-out sigh.

“Yeah. Bit of a mood-killer, that,” Crowley replied, rubbing the back of his own neck embarrassedly.

The two of them shared a knowing glance before breaking into half-manic giggles.

“I’ll fetch a rag,” Aziraphale smiled warmly, and stood on his tip-toes to press a sweet kiss to his love’s cheek before scarpering off to go find what he was looking for.

Crowley smiled dreamily, tracing the place where Aziraphale had kissed him with his fingertips.

The rest of this century - and indeed, the rest of eternity - were both looking to be the best of his long, long life.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out our blogs! (We're working on some EXTRA SPECIAL collabs together, and you can find some teaser art and writing for them there... 👀)
> 
> Me: candyqueenblog.tumblr.com
> 
> Vivi: vivi-theakuneko.tumblr.com


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